


Wings Over Bludhaven

by INKQueen



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Don't worry your favs will still get cameos and stuff, Gen, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Pre Jason's Death, Will be editing the tags as we go, au-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INKQueen/pseuds/INKQueen
Summary: FIC NO LONGER ACTIVE.





	1. Chapter 1

~Blüdhaven. Autumn. Just before a thunderstorm.~

Nightwing’s boots crunched against the gravel of the rooftop as he sprinted towards the edge. Thunder rumbled as the last light of day faded from the gray clouds. Nightwing exhaled sharply as he pushed off the brick ledge, and in that moment of suspension between one building and the next, he looked down into the alley below. There were three kids in the alley, getting into some mischief with a dumpster.

He landed, skidding on the shale just as the first dark circles of raindrops began to appear on the stone. He could hear nothing over the sudden pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. Something was wrong. Frustrated, he closed his eyes and concentrated, just as he’d been trained. A few raindrops chilled the top of his head. His eyes flicked open, and he turned back the way he’d come. He ran and leaped, not aiming this time for the roof opposite, but the alley below. He hadn’t picked up on it at first, over the scent of the rain, but now he noticed what his nose had; the tang of blood.

He rolled out of his fall, twin batons unsheathed simultaneously from their holsters. Standing, he turned around, taking in the area. A club door to his left, metal and graffitied, the large dumpster against the wall next to it… the dumpster. Those kids. _Simple mischief, my ass._ Nightwing cursed. He should have seen it when he glanced down.

Beyond the dumpster the mouth of the alley was empty. The rain was coming down in earnest now, but the smell of blood was stronger than ever. Nightwing crept up to the rim and examined it, squinting against the oncoming dark. Sure enough, a large smear of fresh blood, the rain just beginning to wash it off the cracked blue paint.

He turned for a moment towards the front of the alley again, the rain dripping off strands of his hair. A sudden resounding thump-clang from the side of the dumpster near the door had him ducking quickly down next to it, boots scraping the wet ground, clubs at the ready.

Rain dripped down into the collar of his skin tight suit as he crouched, still as stone. His breath misted the air in front of him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to creep around to the other side of the dumpster. At last he saw the source of the sound.

A kid, slumped in the corner made by the brick wall and the metal side of the dumpster, looking as though somebody had tossed her there like a ragdoll.  
_Or if she hauled herself most of the way out of a dumpster, then fell the rest of the way,_ Nightwing guessed. There was blood spreading across her light-colored shirt.

Nightwing quickly dropped to one knee at her side, his baton giving a clatter-splash as he dropped it in his haste to check on her. Her hair was dark with water, strands of it plastered to her pale face, and no breath was misting the damp air in front of her face. He placed two gloved fingers at the pulse point in her neck. Nothing.

_Dammit, these gloves…_ Nightwing quickly pulled one off, the padding obscuring any sensitivity. Her skin was cold beneath his bare fingers, but… he gave a small sigh. A pulse. Weak and fluttering as a tiny bird, but there nonetheless.

He cupped her cheek in his hand, her skin clammy from rainwater and blood loss, and deathly pale. Her eyelids twitched. Nightwing leaned closer to her.

“Hey. You still with me?” He kept his voice low and calm. She let out a small groan that ended a whimper, and her eyelids lifted a sliver. She looked on the verge of losing consciousness again. Nightwing took her face in both hands now and turned it towards his. Her eyes, green and glazed with pain, locked onto his face.

“Stay with me. You’re going to be fine. I’m going to get you to a hospital. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Stabbed.”

Her voice trembled with the effort. She shifted her body slightly to expose the bloody side. The movement made her grit her teeth, but a small moan still escaped.

“It’s alright, don’t move.”

Sure enough, Nightwing could see four straight wounds in her stomach under the shredded fabric of her thin sweater. They looked deep.

At that moment, her hand slipped from where it rested on her thigh, and he heard it knock against his discarded baton. A shock ran through her body, and she gasped, her eyes snapping wide open, seeing nothing. Then her green eyes found his, and for a moment he was sure she could see past the opaque glass that covered his eyes. Her lips moved as if to form a word. Then she collapsed, eyes shut.

But she was still losing a lot of blood. _She needs help soon or she won’t make it._ Pushing all else aside, Nightwing sheathed his batons, and carefully scooped her up into his arms. Pausing only for a moment to map out the quickest route to the hospital, he sprinted away with her, no more than a shadow in the rainy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the rights to Batman or any affiliated characters. Any resemblance to people or events, past or present, is merely coincidental.  
> (I don't know, they put that on movies, and it makes things sound official)


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later.

 

Nightwing shut the door of the Warehouse behind him and flicked on the light switch. 

_ I really should call my base something cooler than the Warehouse,  _ he thought, _ I _ really  _ hate this place, though. At least it’s only temporary. And since it actually is a warehouse…  _ He chuckled at himself, then quickly sucked in a breath. Laughing hurt his cracked ribs. He’d taken on practically an entire gang two nights before, and while they hadn’t presented anything close to a challenge, with so many, one of them was bound to have gotten in a lucky hit. At least today he wasn’t wincing with every step, but he’d been miserable enough to come in from patrol early.

Nightwing gently peeled his mask off his face, gritting his teeth against the pull of the adhesive. He’d tried attaching it with spirit gum one time, years ago, back when he was just starting out as Robin. The next day, after seeing the raccoon mask of a rash it had left around his eyes, Bruce commissioned a special glue. Nightwing had always been grateful for that. 

“See. These are the things people never ask. It’s always ‘What’s your secret identity,’ never ‘How do you get your mask to stick to your face.’ Priorities, I swear...” he said to no one in particular, shaking his head as stripped off his costume down to the waist.

He looked in the full-length mirror that leaned against the wall, examining the myriad of bruises across the side of his ribcage. He then checked his face for any irritation brought on by wearing the mask every day.

Dick Grayson stared back out at him. 

“Well? What’re you looking at,” he asked the young man in the mirror. He sighed and looked away. “I really am going crazy.”

_ Not really surprising, considering I spend most of my time in this place, _ Dick thought, glancing around the building as he shrugged his top back up over his shoulders. 

The space wasn’t very big; a windowless storage garage with harsh, white, industrial lighting and a cement floor. The place was practically barren compared to the Batcave. There was a cot for crashing, his work table, a couple of bins and a shelf of supplies, a separate desk with computer array, a case and stand for his suit, and a sink. And the mirror, which he used more to stitch himself up than for vanity.

Two months ago, Dick had left Gotham to try his hand at a solo act in Blüdhaven. Bruce had promised to help, but his aid had been financial, since they still weren’t on good speaking terms. He’d mostly been on his own. 

Getting a solo operation up and running was lonely, and Dick had a new appreciation for how difficult it must have been for Bruce Wayne to get started, back when this all began. Still, it was nice to have the support of the Wayne fortune. Of course, Bruce had had that advantage too…

_ But pretty soon I’ll have enough to buy the whole floor of my apartment building. Then I can move this whole damn operation up there- _

Someone knocked on the door. 

_ A villain with the decency to knock? I’m shocked! _ Dick squashed a laugh as he sprang into action. Whoever was outside tried the handle, and the sliding door began to pull back, just at the moment Dick flicked out the lights.

_ Batman would have my head if he ever found out I left the door unlocked, _ Dick thought as he crouched in the dark, setting his mask back onto his face and waiting for whatever came through the door.

They stood there, a dark silhouette against the lamplight outside. All he needed was an opportunity to slip outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the rights to Batman or any affiliated characters. Any resemblance to people or events, past or present, is merely coincidental.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I'm going to try to not do this a lot, but whenever the story changes POV, it will be a separate chapter, so excuse the shortness.

~~

She peered into the darkness.

“Hello?” She called out, her voice echoing back. A gust blew out of the hollow space and ruffled the top of her hair.

“Guess nobody’s home,” she muttered under her breath, shutting the door. Honestly, she’d been surprised that it hadn’t been locked. She turned, ready to move on--

“How did you find this place?”

She whipped around, scanning, but there was nothing there. Just the black shapes of the storage units against the velvet sky. Movement caught her eye, and she realized why she hadn’t seen him. He was standing on the other side of the streetlamp, just outside the puddle of light. Pieces of him were visible, the rest of his form melting into the night.

She’d been right. He was here.

~~


	4. Chapter 4

Nightwing saw her whirl away from the door as soon as he spoke, and it didn’t take long for her to spot him in the semi-darkness.

_ Good eye. _

She strode forward until she was opposite him, also just beyond the reach of the lamplight.

_ Not stupid either. _

“You’re the guy that saved my life,” she said.

Nightwing almost quipped back-  _ “I save a lot of people.” _ -but thought that was probably a bad idea, so he stayed silent.

The girl continued. “I was hoping you’d remember. It was about two weeks ago? I don’t remember a whole lot, but when I woke up in the hospital, the nurses said that I’d been brought in by the new masked hero of Blüdhaven. They said a few minutes later and I wouldn’t have made it. So I guess… thank you.”

She stepped partway into the light, revealing her face. Something clicked into place in Nightwing’s memory.  _ The dumpster kid! Though not so much a kid. I’d say she’s actually about my age. _

Her face had no trace of childhood roundness, with prominent cheekbones, a few dark freckles against olive skin, and very green eyes. Her hair was a rich dark auburn, but a single lock, dangling on the right side of her face, was silver. She was barely two inches shorter than his five foot ten, and she stood the way an anxious cat would, with guarded curiosity.

He knew nothing about her and that made him nervous.

_ I need to know how she found me. I thought I was being careful, but if she managed to follow me… _

“I’ll ask again, how did you find this place?” he said, doing his best impression of Bruce Wayne’s ‘Do-as-I-Command’ voice.

“I saw it,” she said matter-of-factly, then hesitated, glancing around. “Can you keep a secret?”

Nightwing nearly snorted aloud. He nodded, fighting to keep the corners of his mouth down.

“I… I see things when I touch objects that belong to people. It’s call psychometry. It’s like I can see the object’s memory. I don’t remember a whole lot from the night I got stabbed, but I remember seeing the doorway to the storage unit. I must have touched something of yours, and that led me here.”

_ So she’s a Metahuman. But that still doesn’t explain… _

“All the storage units look the same, and the numbers are on the back. How could you have known which one you were looking for if you only saw the doorway?” he asked.

A sheepish grin spread over her face. “I may or may not have been going down the line, knocking on every door.”

Nightwing smiled.  _ Persistent, I’ll give her that. And she’s been honest so far; no hint of evil, ulterior motives. Still, I can’t have a normal civilian aware of my base. Damn, I really need to move out of here soon. _

“What else did you see?” Nightwing asked cautiously, acutely aware of how much sensitive information she could have had access to.

“I don’t know anything else about you,” she said, her face a mask.

“Are you in full control of your powers?” He just needed to be sure. Nightwing knew plenty of Metahumans. Most of them simply wanted to go about their lives. He was willing to trust.

“Yes,” she replied, nodding.  “Except, you know, when I’m bleeding to death in an alley. I swear, I never would have psyched you on purpose.”

He bowed his head to her. “Good to hear. Thanks, but I’m going to have to ask that you forget this place, and that you ever saw me here. I’m sure you understand why. Anyway, I’m glad that you’re okay. Now you’ll have to excuse me-”

Her brow furrowed. She opened her mouth to protest, and she took a step further into the light, exposing her. The was a sharp whistling sound and Nightwing dropped into a crouch, batons already in hand, scanning for the source of the shot.

_ Dammit! She was followed. _

The girl hadn’t moved. He turned to tell her to get down, but froze before a single word had left his mouth. Her eyes were wide with shock, her hand halfway to her neck. The fuzzy end of a dart sprouted just under her jawline.

_ I wasn’t the target. _

He lunged forward, dropping his weapons, catching her as she crumpled towards the pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the rights to Batman or any affiliated characters. Any resemblance to people or events, past or present, is merely coincidental.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changing POV again. Last time for a while, I promise.

~~

_ Why do I only ever see him when I’m about to die? _

She’d gotten a good look at him when he darted forward to catch her. His hair was jet black, as were his superhero tights.  _ Kevlar maybe? _ Also a belt, with a couple small pouches. Her vision was tunneling. A black domino mask, fitted to his face.  _ I wonder how it stays on? _ Opaque white lenses covered his eyes. Her whole body was numb now. There was a blue hawk emblazoned on his chest.

The blackness swallowed her whole.

~~


	6. Chapter 6

Nightwing dragged the girl’s body out of the circle of light.

_ Minimize the target. _

He dashed back to grab his clubs.

_ Don’t lose your weapons. Find the enemy. _

He scanned. The rooftops were empty.

_ They’re smart. Trained. _

He yanked open the door to the Warehouse, hauling himself and the girl inside. 

Bruce’s voice again: Lock the door. 

He grabbed for the sliding bolt, but found it hanging halfway off the door.

_ They’ve already been in here. _

Grabbing some heavy wire and rope, he tied the damn thing shut.

_ That won’t slow them down much. I’ll have to take a chance with the lights. _

Nightwing flicked on the switch, not waiting for his eyes to adjust.

_ Note to self: night vision lenses might be a good idea. _

He picked up the girl and dumped her unceremoniously onto the cot. He pulled the dart from her neck and checked for a pulse.

Slow, but steady.  _ Just a tranquilizer. Thank God. _

There were footsteps outside, and someone tried the door. Nightwing considered his options.

_ They’re after her, probably for her Meta powers. I don’t know how many there are, or who they are, just that they’re trained, and want her alive. I could take the fight outside to them, but there’s a possibility one will get past. Best chance is to bottleneck them at the door and hope there aren’t too many. After that… well, I’m a genius strategist, I’m sure I’ll think of something. _

Nightwing hauled the cot to the back of the Warehouse as something heavy slammed into the door. The building was easily defensible- no windows and a single entrance- but this was also a downside: no other exit. There was another BANG and the metal door buckled partway. A narrow slit appeared between the door and the top frame. Not big enough for a person,  _ but certainly big enough for- _

A smoke bomb whistled into the Warehouse, quickly obscuring everything in a chemical cloud. Nightwing heard the door scream as it came flying off its hinges, landing three meters away. He grabbed a scrap of cloth from the work table and tied it around his mouth. With the protection of his lenses, he could easily see shapes beginning to move through the smog.

Nightwing sank into a fighter’s stance, batons at the ready. 

_ Here goes nothing. _

There was no end to the blows, his raining on the enemy, dodging as many of theirs as he could. They looked unreal, looming out of the smoke, gas masks on their faces. But slowly, step by step, he pushed them back towards the diluted light of the door. His progress was made even slower by the fact that he had to be sure each one was thoroughly incapacitated before moving on, or risk allowing one to get to the girl. 

A soldier grabbed him from behind with a professional chokehold. Nightwing twisted out of it, losing his makeshift smokescreen in the process. He inhaled a lungful of smoke on his next breath, and a cough racked his chest, causing a flare of pain from his cracked ribs. A thug with a knife took advantage of the distraction, charging for his chest. Nightwing twisted out of the way, receiving a cut on his arm, and giving the man a concussive whack to the back of the head.

_ How did the night go so damn wrong? _

Suddenly all was quiet. He’d made it to the door. The smoke was fading away. The last enemy was dragging away an unconscious comrade. The man turned to look back at Nightwing, standing battered in the doorway.

Tilting his chin up, Nightwing called after them: “Run away, rat. And tell your friends what’s coming for Blüdhaven.”

“You think you can make a difference here, like your bat friend in Gotham?” Hissing laughter echoed in the night. “Better tend to your own nest first!”

_ I’d better what? Tend to my… NO! _

He sprinted to the cot in the back corner. Empty.

Nightwing roared in frustration, and, tired as he was, tore off in search of the trail. His thoughts whirled as the docks rushed past, lights and buildings stripping past as his lungs burned.

_ I didn’t let a single one past. Not a single one. I KNOW I didn’t. Then how? I just met her, but they’ve got her…  _ Images flashed through his mind. _ Focus. Don’t think about what they’ll do to her ‘cause she’s a young girl and a Metahuman. Find the trail. You can stop it. You said you’d help this city. Start with her. Find her. You were trained by the world’s greatest detective. There must be something. _

But there was nothing. No mark or sign. They’d up and vanished. Gone. Nightwing stopped, collapsing against the side of a building. Knowing that there was nothing he could do didn’t stop the flood of despair. 

 

It wasn’t until he’d returned to the Warehouse that he figured out how they’d gotten past him. He noticed it first over the doorway: a wisp of high tensile polymer sticking to the frame. He pulled, but the wisp held in place. They were strong enough to support a man’s weight, and designed to resemble spider webs. There was a trail of the sticky stuff, all across the ceiling, ending just above the cot. He’d never thought to look up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the rights to Batman or any affiliated characters. Any resemblance to people or events, past or present, is merely coincidental.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break.

October 30, two months later.

Nightwing sat on the dark roof of a tall brickwork building at the heart of the city. His city. The thousands of decorations up for Halloween cast an orange glow over everything. The night had been quiet so far. 

_ They’re saving it up for tomorrow, _ Nightwing thought bitterly. He was not looking forward to Halloween.  _ At least it’s not like Detroit here. I hear Firestorm and Green Lantern have their hands full with Devil’s Night every year. For once, I’m glad to be in Blüdhaven. _

Blüdhaven. Every inch of the city dripped defiance. The cracked brick buildings defied renovation. The graffiti was never gone for more than an hour. The litter leaped out of the bins of its own volition. Even the people here, knowing full well how much desperation and meanness haunted their every footstep, stubbornly went about their daily lives. 

But most of all, the city had defied Nightwing’s every attempt to heal its leaking darkness.

_ This isn’t like Gotham at all, _ he thought, grinding his teeth. The shadow of glumness had been tailing him all day.  _ In Gotham, you knew exactly who ran the drug trade, and who the fences answered to. Here… it’s like a never-ending flow of anonymous nastiness. _

Nightwing had beaten up two gang leaders, cuffed four dealers, and rescued a couple of street kids in just the last week. None of it mattered; the streets never stayed clean.

_ But at least now I have a case. A case that might actually make a dent in the number of felonies around here, _ Nightwing thought,  _ unlike everything else I’ve done. _

He’d recently come across a new bit of info about one of the city’s big names in crime.  _ Well, I wouldn’t say ‘come across’, more like it walked into my fist. _ Nightwing smirked.

Spinstress. That was the name an unfortunate thug had let slip a couple weeks ago. Apparently, she controlled most of the crime in the southern neighborhoods and a good chunk of the island as well. 

About a week ago, Nightwing had been approached by a snitch claiming to have information on Spinstress. Of course, he’d been suspicious at first; you don’t stay alive by trusting every random sneak. But this source, known to him as K, had given him details about two drug operations last week. He’d reconned them himself to confirm that the info was good. It was.

_ Third time pays for all. Well, for my continued trust anyway. _

K’s intel this time was about an arms transfer at the south end of Madison Avenue. Nightwing stood up from his crouched position on the ledge, stretching the stiffness out of his legs. He stepped down onto the snarling gargoyle that protruded from the facade of the building. 

Then he hopped back and fell. His fingertips brushed the gargoyle before catching on the support bar just below it. The ground blurred below him as he swung towards the metal fire escape, landing with an almighty clang. A cat on a nearby windowsill looked up with annoyance. Some of the tenants of the building probably heard, but Nightwing found, as he took a somersaulting leap to the ground, that he didn’t care.

_ Flying is the same, wherever you are. _

He was off and running.

There was a battered drug store at the corner of Madison and Caine that all honest folk in the neighborhood knew to avoid.

_ You can tell it’s favored by higher crime ‘cause there’s still glass in all the windows. _

Nightwing had perched himself on a ledge overlooking the few square yards that passed for the drugstore’s back lot. A delivery truck with the words  _ The Leprechaun’s Toy Shop _ and a red-cheeked cartoon elf emblazoned on the side had been squashed into it. Men scuttled between it and the trapdoor to the basement with armloads of AK-47s and Glocks.

_ I’m sure there’s a joke in here somewhere about tiny men and their toys, _ Nightwing mused. 

He waited until most of the men were in the truck or the basement, then Nightwing spread his arms and fell. The wind rushed through his fingers and hair for a spare few seconds before he landed, tucking into a roll. Hugging the edges of the lot to stay in shadow, Nightwing approached the truck. A few feet away from the man guarding the loading doors, he shook off the furtive movement, and sauntered up to the man.

“Hey buddy, think you could lend me a smoke?” Nightwing asked congenially. The man glanced over at him, then turned his eyes back to scanning the lot.

“Sorry, I don’t sm--” His head whipped back around, suddenly comprehending the absurdity of a stranger walking in on an arms deal and asking for a cigarette. He squinted in the bad light, and his eyes widened when he saw Nightwing’s costume. The guard fumbled to raise his assault rifle.

“Hey, you’re that --” Nightwing whacked him over the head and the man crumpled with a slight thump _.  _

“Well these ones aren’t very professional,” Nightwing murmured to himself, before addressing the unconscious man. “You don’t smoke, but I wouldn’t call a criminal career a healthy life choice. You’ll have a concussion when you wake up.”

Nightwing heard the gentle scuffing of men inside the truck getting close to the door. He ducked around the side of the vehicle, waiting. Four men jumped out of the back of the truck, arms loaded with weapons.

_ A little less than half their crew, if I’ve been counting right. Time to take those ‘arms’ off their ‘hands.’ _

Nightwing grinned at his own pun, and stalked up behind  the men as they made their way across the lot. 

The man at the back of the pack took a blow to the back of the head and went down silently. But the guns in his arms didn’t. They clattered against the pavement, and the other three men whirled around, alerted by the noise.

Nightwing gave them a sheepish smile as they stared at him. “Hey guys, sorry about this. I mean, not really, but-”

The men open fired. Nightwing launched himself upwards as bullets whizzed through the air where he’d just been. He tucked mid-flip, and uncurled to land feet-first on the shoulders of the one of the men. The thug crumpled under Nightwing’s weight. The other two men backed away and cut off their gunfire, fearful of hitting their fallen comrades.

“Aw, you do care,” Nightwing said, scooting close to the ground to get under the guard of the closest man. He jabbed the man hard under the ribs with one baton, then cracked him on the head when he doubled over.

Nightwing turned to the last man, who cursed and fired. Nightwing dodged, cartwheeling back and forth until he heard the click of an empty magazine. He grinned even wider.

The thug cursed again --  _ that man has a mouth like a sailor --  _ and leaned down towards one of the dropped weapons on the ground. He got his fingers around a rifle when Nightwing lunged forward and stepped on the barrel. The man leapt back away from Nightwing’s next upward strike, pulling a knife from his clothes.

“Hey! Get up here!” the man began yelling to his comrades in the cellar. “Some costumed freak -- gaahh!” He was cut off as Nightwing’s side kick connected with his chest.

The nam tumbled backwards, coming to rest as a crumpled heap against a wall.

_ Oooh, here come the rest,  _ Nightwing thought, hearing the sound of heavy boots on wooden steps echoing from the open trapdoor in the pavement.

Four more thugs burst from underground. They skidded to a halt, scanning the lot, guns at the ready.

“I’m behind you,” Nightwing said helpfully, leaning on the propped-up trapdoor.

They turned as a unit and open fired. Nightwing ducked behind the trapdoor, then pushed off quickly to one side before the sheet metal was shredded by gunfire. He found new cover behind a stack of wooden pallets. He kicked off the wall, then the stack, then the wall again until he reached the top of the stack. Nightwing lobbed a smoke bomb down into the midst of the gunmen before they could reorient their aim. A slugging gray cloud enveloped the shooters. The gunfire cut short.

_ Just what the doctor ordered! _ Nightwing lept down into fog. He hit the ground right in front of one of the men.

“He’s over here!” The guy yelled, leveling the barrel of his semi-automatic rifle at Nightwing. Shouting started up nearby. Nightwing moved in quickly, grabbing the barrel and pointing it away from himself just as it rattled out a dozen rounds. He could feel the heat of the barrel through his glove.

The thug’s eyes got wide, and he tried to yank the rifle back. Nightwing went with his momentum, getting a second hand on the gun and shoving. The gunman toppled over backwards, and Nightwing went with him, expertly rolling out of the fall and taking the gun with him. He discharged the magazine, and threw it as hard as he could into the mist. 

The thug was sitting up, groaning.

“No, you should stay down,” Nightwing said, before knocking the man unconscious with the butt of his own gun.

Nightwing turned, waving a hand through the hazy air.  _  Is that another guy there? I can’t tell. _

His smoke formula was harmless, meant only to obscure visibility,  _ which unfortunately includes my own. Huh, I guess that shape  _ is _ another-- _

The next thug charged into his field of vision with a yell. This one had a hand gun, and emptied a few rounds at Nightwing. Nightwing had already moved, zigzagging closer to come at him from the side. A sharp front kick sent the flying out out of the thug’s hand and spinning off into the fog. 

Nightwing planted both hands on the ground to deliver a double footed sidekick to the side of the gunman’s chest.

_ Oh, oops! Gun _ woman.

Nightwing twisted to avoid her breast at the last second, tucking one leg back in, and sending his heel directly into her sternum. She gave a  _ whoof _ as she went backwards,  end over crewcut, until she flopped facedown on the asphalt.

_ Babs would never forgive me if I kicked a woman in the chest. One time I did it to her on accident while sparring and she didn’t talk to me for a week. _

Nightwing smiled at the thought of his fiery fellow vigilante.

A shot and a yell sounded on his right. He moved quickly towards it, and soon two figures appeared in the smoke, both crouched on the ground.

“--sorry, man,” one of them way saying. Nightwing crept up behind him and knocked him out cold. The other one swore and scooted back on his butt, cradling one arm. He was bleeding badly from one shoulder.

“Hang on, did your buddy shoot you?” Nightwing asked.

The guy clammed up, but the resentful look on his face confirmed Nightwing’s hypothesis.

“Look, it was probably an accident. He probably thought you were me. Anyway, stay down, okay? And here.” He tossed the guy a roll of bandages from his tool belt. It plopped into the man’s lap, where he glared at it.

_ Good, trained, professional thugs must be expensive these days _ , Nightwing thought as moved off into the fog in search of the last thug.

The last guy had made it out of the radius of the smoke bomb, and was squinting back into the cloud. He started shooting as soon as he saw Nightwing’s figure emerging from the fog, emptying his magazine into it. The shaped jerked and spun as the bullets hit, and it clattered to the ground.

Confusion contorted the thug’s face as his brain made the connection that bodies don’t  _ clatter _ when they fall. The next second Nightwing fell  on him from above, knocking the weapon from his hand the second after. The thug gave a yelp and fell on his butt.

“Geez, you got something against boxes?” Nightwing asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at a bullet-riddles crate of rifles at the edge of the cloud. The man just gaped. Nightwing grabbed the front of his shirt and hoisted his back onto his feet.

“Got two quick questions for you though. Who’s the buyer for this deal?” Nightwing asked.

“Th- the- the Spinstress,” the thug sputtered.

Nightwing nodded. “That’s all I needed to know. Also, can I borrow your cell?”

The man nodded shakily and pulled it from his pocket. Nightwing dropped the thug back onto the ground dialed as the man scrambled away. There was a click on the other end of the line.

_ “Hello? Who is this?” _

“Hey, Lieutenant! I gotta lot of weapons down here on the corner of Madison that I want to turn in.”

_ “Is this Nightwing again? Wait, hold-” _

Nightwing hung up. He trusted Lieutenant Montgomery to take care of the truck full of weaponry.

_ He’s just about the most upstanding cop in this city. Maybe the  _ only  _ upstanding cop in this city. And I confirmed K’s information that this deal was set up by the Spinstress, so I guess it’s time to go see get the next round of information. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the rights to Batman or any affiliated characters. Any resemblance to people or events, past or present, is merely coincidental.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah. suddenly got the motivation to work on this again.

Dick Grayson pushed open the heavy wooden door of  _ The Angel’s Haven _ pub, an old bar with one of the more ironic names in the city. It was known as a gathering place for seedy characters, and more nights than not, a fight broke out before 1 am. 

What most people didn’t know was that there was actually a code of conduct at ‘the Haven in ‘Haven,’ as most of the regulars called it.

As far as criminal dens went, it was quite respectable. It was neutral ground for most of the gangs, and the bartender didn’t take kindly to things getting political in his pub. 

The bartender, Tobias Small, was another ironic aspect of  _ The Angel’s Haven _ . He was built like a mountain, and even the hardened criminals who frequented his bar respected him. Those who didn’t found themselves booted out into the cold with all due haste and indelicacy.

Dick himself rather liked the man.

This was Dick’s usual meeting place with K, his informant. K had promised him more info if the arms deal panned out, and since it had, Dick was almost happy to oblige. 

_ Almost. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop with this K. Seems almost too eager to hand out info on illegal activities. _

Dick pondered K’s motives as he wound his way through the dingy room. Coming in here always made him feel like he’d stepped back in time. The room was always slightly hazy with smoke, diffusing the yellow light to the dimness of candles. Everything was made of creaky, weather-worn wood.

_ Feels like I’m on a pirate ship,  _ Dick decided,  _ if, you know, pirates wore hoodies. _

He’d thrown a black hoodie, with a deep hood that hid nearly his entire face, and jeans over his costume, and stuffed his mask into the pocket. He felt a bit weird doing mission work with his face uncovered and in civies.

_ But the alternative is being in costume, and in this place, that would be absolutely suicidal, so… _

Dick scooted quietly into the booth at the end of the first row. A few minutes later he heard the door bang shut over the din of conversation, and footsteps stop at the booth behind him. He checked in the grungy mirror on the wall overhead, which had been set up so Tobias could keep an eye on his customers, but suited Dick’s purposes just fine.

Sure enough, a figure in a familiar white hoodie that contrasted with Dick’s black was sitting in the other booth, back to back with him.

He felt more than heard knuckles rap on his side of the divider. He reached down and grabbed the slip of paper being offered. It read:

_ Meet out back. Can’t write down. _

K got up and left through the front door. Dick’s heart rate picked up.

_ What’s so important that it can’t be written down? I always destroy the notes. I don’t like this. _

Nonetheless, he got up and went outside. He ducked into the mouth of the alley that led to the back of the building. Dick could see a figure with a white hood disappearing at the other end. He paused for a moment to pull off his jeans and hoodie and hide them, along with the note, behind a nearby trash bin.

Dick put on his domino mask, newly installed night vision lenses springing to life, and unsheathed his escrima sticks.

_ I don’t like this at all. _

Nightwing made his way down the alley, his guard up. He scanned the area as he entered the lot behind the pub. The area was well lit enough by an overhead lamp, so he clicked the night vision lenses back off. 

_ Second alleyway, dumpster and trash cans, low neighboring roofs, lots of handholds. A good spot if I need to make a quick exit. _

Nightwing turned his attention to his informant. Wearing a green vest over the white hoodie, K was standing in the farthest corner of the lot.

_ The best defensive position here, _ Nightwing noted. Then she took off her hood.

Nightwing nearly dropped his batons. “Dumpster girl!” 

She laughed quietly at his shocked exclamation. It was a warm laugh, but with a hard edge to it, carried to him by a cold gust of wind. Her hair was cut short now, just brushing her jawline, and the silver streak in her hair had grown out, showing auburn roots, but there was no mistaking the sharp green eyes.

“You remembered,” she said. “I was pretty sure you’d’ve forgotten by now.”

“I’m sorry,” Nightwing said, sheathing his batons. “About what happened. I’m a little surprised you’re…”

He didn’t finish the thought. He’d been about to say ‘alive,’ but she got the gist of the remark. Her eyebrows shot up.

“A tough girl like me? Please. And don’t call me Dumpster Girl.”

“We never got around to formal introductions,” said Nightwing defensively. “But to remedy that: Nightwing, at your service.” He made a grand, sweeping bow.

“Oh,  _ you _ I know,” the girl said laughing. “The whole underworld knows you. ‘Nightwing, scourge of the streets, ready to clean up Blüdhaven like his bat friend in Gotham.’”

Her tone dripped sarcasm. Nightwing clasped a dramatic hand to his heart.

“You wound me, good maiden,” he exclaimed. “And still, I don’t know your name.”

She considered for a moment. 

“You can keep calling me K.”

“That’s not a name, that’s a letter,” Nightwing protested.

“It is too a name, spelled K-A-Y,” she shot back.

“Trying to maintain the air of mystery, are we?”

“Yeah. I’m also not stupid enough to give my name to just any random guy who asks.”

Nightwing feigned shock. “Surely after all our time together I’m more than just some random guy to you. You can confide in me.”

“Says the man in the mask,” Kay scoffed. “How ‘bout I trade you a name for a name, huh?”

_ Drat _ , Nightwing thought. She had him there and they both knew it. Nightwing sighed dramatically in defeat, before his grin sprang back into place.

“Well Kay, how may I be of service this evening? As I recall, you had some information so important it couldn’t be put to paper.” He walked over and linked arms with her.

Kay quirked an eyebrow. “That’s right.”

“Do tell. And while you’re at it, tell me your life story, I’m very curious,” Nightwing said cheerfully. 

They began to stroll out of the lot, like it was a Sunday afternoon at the park, not two a.m in the back alleys of one of the most dangerous cities in the world.

“Well since you asked so nicely,” she said, quirking a smile as they paraded down the alley together. “Since our paths last crossed, I’ve been in the employ of the Spinstress, the queen of crime, while secretly passing confidential information to a terribly dashing young hero.”

Nightwing gave another mock bow.

“Speaking of which,” she continued, “I happen to know that tomorrow night--”

Kay stopped suddenly. They’d reached the end of the alley, and walked right into a circle of glaring thugs. 

_ Oh joy, a trap. _ Nightwing glanced at Kay. She gave a slight nod.

“Run!”

They turned and sprinted back the way they’d come, dodging trash bags. The thugs were right on their heels, yelling obscenities. A gunshot cracked behind them, and Nightwing felt clay chips graze his shoulder as the bullet bit into the wall next to him. 

They exploded into the backlot. Thugs had already blocked the other exit. 

Nightwing didn’t break his stride as he launched himself at the nearest wall, catching himself on a low ledge. He began to scale the wall, finding niches to cling to where the bricks were missing. It was a few seconds before he thought to check on Kay. He looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see her scrambling right up behind him.

“So you think you can keep up?” he taunted jokingly.

She flashed a grin. “Race you to the top!”

“Oh, it is on!”

A bullet missed his hand by centimeters, wiping the grin off his face. Nightwing made it all the way to the rim of the roof before the whole situation went sideways. He heard a shriek behind him and look down to see Kay’s bloody hand slip from the ledge she was clinging to. Her other arm began to shake, and her feet scrabbled to find a hold as bullets cracked around her.

“A little help!” she yelled.

_ Dammit!  _ Nightwing tightened his grip on the edge of the roof, and tucked his legs, bringing them up and over the edge. He could feel a bar on the other side of the ledge. Nightwing hooked his feet under it, locking himself in place by the ankles. He let go of the roof and flipped upside down, reaching his arms down towards Kay. 

She grabbed ahold of his forearm with a grunt, blood pumping from a wound in her wrist with the effort of holding on. She nearly slipped out of his grasp.

“Hang on!” Nightwing shouted as she let go of the window ledge to grasp his other hand. She gave him a hard glare as she swung out over empty air.

“Not much choice!” she shouted back.

There was another smattering of gunfire. Pain tore into Nightwing’s leg, sending a lightning bolt blazing through his body. 

“AAARG!”

He gritted his teeth against the impulse to drop Kay but his grip shifted precariously.

“Don’t be such a wuss! Haven’t you ever taken a bullet before? You screamed louder than I did!” Kay yelled, fear coloring her voice.

Nightwing laughed. “Yeah, but I’ll probably lose more blood!”

She rolled her eyes. “Just get us up to the roof.”

“With pleasure, but you’re not going to like it! Push off of the wall.”

Kay’s eyes widened, but she kicked off. Nightwing swung her up and out, away from the wall with all his might. The movement was so ingrained in his acrobatic bones that even in his awkward and bloody position, the technique would have made any trapeze artist jealous. At the top of the arc, he let go. 

Kay shrieked as she tumbled through the air, but had enough sense to aim for the roof. For a second it looked like she was going to miss, but a moment later he heard her hit the roof with a clatter. A second later the silhouette of her head popped over the ledge, and she reached out a hand to him.

“Your turn to hang on.”

“Thanks,” Nightwing grunted as she helped him haul himself over the brim. He tried to stand.

_ Oops, bad call. _ He gasped as his leg collapsed beneath him. Once the stabs of pain wracking his body subsided, Nightwing assessed the damage from his curled position on the ground. 

_ Well, my thigh’s a bloody mess, and it must’ve hit something major for it to hurt this bad. What a drag. _

“You gonna make it?” Kay asked sarcastically, crouching down next to him. She turned white when she saw the state of his leg. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’ll live. I’ve had worse. How’s your arm?”

“Just a nasty gash,” Kay said, holding out her arm for inspection. Nightwing, sitting part way up, took it in his hand to get a better look. He gasped sharply.

“What? What is it?” Kay asked in alarm.

“It’s a nasty gash!” Nightwing said. Kay rolled her eyes, and, yanking her arm back, cuffed him over the head. His laugh turned into a hiss as his leg throbbed again and he flopped back down onto the gravel roof. The sound of gunfire had stopped, but with his ear pressed to the ground, Nightwing could hear the shuddering of people running up stairs inside the building.

“They’re coming,” he reported.

Kay’s brow furrowed. “Can you walk?”

“Not really,” Nightwing said sitting up properly. “There’s not extensive damage, but I think it hit a major nerve cluster…” Nightwing shook his head.  _ Getting out of here quickly is not really an option for me. I mean, I’ve had worse, but… _

Kay rubbed her hands together nervously. “So what’s the plan?”

“You run, I hide. And really hope they don’t find me. Speaking of which, how’d they find us in the first place?”

Kay shifted uncomfortably and rubbed her hands together again. She looked like that anxious cat again. “I don’t know, but I’ve got a bad feeling they work for my boss.”

“Then you definitely need to get out of here. If they see you, you’re screwed.” Nightwing pulled a strip of bandage from one of the pouches at his waist and quickly bound up his thigh as best he could.

He could hear voices, barely a floor below them. They needed to move, now.

“Um, Nightwing? Problem. How are we getting off this roof?” 

Kay was scanning the roof, and Nightwing immediately realized the problem. There was no fire escape.

_ Who the hell builds a building without a fire escape? Blüdhaven, you are a city of never-ending wonders… _

He quickly scanned the buildings around them, all of which were too tall to jump to, and none close enough to climb. They were too high up to jump. The only way down was the stairs, or to climb down the way they’d come which would leave them as a pair of sitting ducks for the gunmen.

There was a pounding in the trapdoor to the roof. The men would be on the roof any second. Nightwing unsheathed his escrima sticks. _ Two traps is two too many for one night. This is gonna get ugly. _ Nightwing pushed himself into a standing position, his back against a chimney. His leg screamed and his vision tunneled before clearing.

“Kay, hide. I should be able to distract them long enough for you to get to the stairs. Wait ‘til they’re mostly clear.”

“You can’t be serious. You can’t walk.”

“I’ll manage. You’d be surprised. But you need to leave. I won’t put you in danger again.” He meant it.

Kay had a strange look on her face. “I think I can get us both out of here alive. Could you take them all on if you weren’t injured?”

“Well, yeah, but -- you aren’t a Healer are you?”

“No, but I can--”

The trapdoor burst open and shouting flooded the night air.

Kay stepped close to him, and gently cupped his face in her hands, placing a thumb on each of his temples. She closed her eyes.

“Kay, what--”

“Shut up.”

Suddenly Kay screamed and collapsed, clutching her leg. At the same moment, every trace of pain vanished from Nightwing. Not just in his thigh, but all the bumps and bruises that always covered his body.

“Kay!” Nightwing crouched over her as men began spilling onto the roof.

“Be quick. You’ll still bleed out,” she hissed between her teeth, her eyes watering. Her body shuddered under his hand.

“You seriously owe me an explanation,” Nightwing said as he stepped around in front of her and lifted his batons.

The men charged. Nightwing met them in the middle of the roof.

He worked quickly, striking to incapacitate more than he usually would. He wasn’t going to risk letting any of them get past to the girl he was protecting.

Again.  _ This won’t be like last time. _ He’d failed her last time, his first real failure as his own hero, and it had plagued him ever since. 

It was over in under six minutes. All the men lay unconscious at his feet. He was just turning back to check on Kay when the pain returned. He cried out as his leg buckled beneath him again, his body hit everywhere with a wave of pain.

He heard a single pair of boots escaping down the stairs in the building below. He looked over at the chimney. Sure enough, Kay was gone.

_ Dammit Kay, a little warning would have been nice. And you still owe me that explanation, AND that intel from earlier, _ Nightwing thought darkly as he hauled himself onto hands and knees.  _ Oh well. At least we’re both alive. _


	9. Chapter 9

Nightwing dragged himself down the stairs, back to his apartment building, and up the fire escape, swearing the whole way. At last, he collapsed onto his ‘idiot bed’. It was in his sick room, an adapted bathroom filled with medical supplies, and the nearest to the window that served as his entry and exit when he was in costume. The Idiot Bed was the one Nightwing ended up when he was in such bad shape he couldn’t get to his real bed.

_ Basically, when I’ve been an idiot. _ He glanced around the cluttered room.  _ Unfortunately, that’s most of the time… _

He sighed as he peeled his mask off his face, blinking a few times to readjust his eyesight. He lay in the dark for a while, letting his mind spin until the warmth of his apartment had chased the chill of the autumn air from his bones. 

_ Well, I suppose I should stitch myself up before I bleed to death. Wish Alfred was here to do it. _

Groaning, Dick sat up and flipped on the light. He pulled off the top of his suit and gently peeled the rest away from his injury. He hissed at the state of his leg. 

“This is gonna suck.”

He hauled a dolly of medical instruments closer to him and grabbed a syringe of anesthetic, tearing off the cap with his teeth. Normally, he used drugs as little as possible, but there was no exit wound.

_ Which means bullet’s still in there and I have to remove it without passing out, so I think a little numbness is fine. _

He could see the glint of the bullet, meaning it would be safe enough to remove. Dick grabbed a pair of tweezers and took a shaky breath before setting to work. Again, he fervently wished for Alfred’s steady hands; each slight jostle sent pain prickling through his body, which in turn made his hands shake more. 

At last, Dick heaved a sigh and dropped the bloody bullet onto the table with a plink. 

_ Looks like it’s still in one piece, thank goodness. _

He swapped the tweezers out for a ratty washcloth and began to mop up the wound, which had started bleeding again during his self-operating.

_ I’m just glad it wasn’t a shotgun, _ Dick thought grudgingly.  _ Though the suit might’ve stopped it better if it had been. _

Dick glanced back at the bullet. High grade, armor-piercing caliber.  _ Jeez, no wonder it turned my leg into meatloaf. _ With most of the blood mopped up, Dick just sat there for a while, listening to the quiet and the hum of the refrigerator in the next room. The next part hurt. 

Screwing his courage, he grabbed the irrigation syringe and a pouch of saline solution. Letting an injury get infected wasn’t an option in his line of work, so cleaning it out was a must.

_ I swear, this doesn’t get easier, even though I probably have one of the highest pain thresholds on the planet. I wish Bruce was here-- _ Dick stopped the thought before it went any farther. The first few times Dick had gotten injured as Robin, Bruce held his hand while Alfred disinfected the wound, like a parent when a kid gets a shot. 

_ Everything’s harder on your own.  _

“Well, here goes nothing.” He pushed down on the plunger, flooding the wound with the saline.

Dick’s yelp was covered by the sudden screech of a car alarm. The city was waking up, horns already swelling to the steady dim that underwrote city life. October 31st was dawning, cold and gray. Dick, eyes watering slightly, bandaged his leg tightly and propping it up on a pillow, clicked off the light and yanked a blanket over his head.

_ Thank god it’s Saturday,  _ he thought as he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
